To do all that, I need to empty the studio; yes, empty. Every item needs to be packed and put into storage, or tossed. I have handled, during the past few weeks, countless books from a variety of fields and interests; files from my old teaching days; photographs and letters from many, many years ago; an endless array of art supplies; and all those things that one couldn't decide about that just ended up in the garage (i.e., the former garage, now studio). Thankfully, good friends have helped. Nonetheless, this has been lots of hard personal identity work. With every box I pack, I ask myself: What does this object say about who I was, who I am, and who I hope to be? Yikes! Imagine weeks of that. And I thought this was just the place where I painted.